


Perfection

by sinfulpcradise



Category: INFINITE (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Bottom Nam Woohyun, Dark Fantasy, Demon/Human Relationships, Demons, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Forbidden Love, Kim Sunggyu-centric, M/M, Melancholy, Metaphors, Nam Woohyun-centric, Time Loop, Top Kim Sunggyu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfulpcradise/pseuds/sinfulpcradise
Summary: A soul doomed into perfection tries to lure in an innocent soul to kill in order to set himself free, but his feelings begin to control him more than his will to freedom.OrWoohyun was used to watching the fog dance around outside his window, he loved to watch the leaves fall and he loved to watch as Winter took control. Only just recently did he begin hearing the silence get interrupted by the melodies of a violin, out of tune and broken, damaged. As the violin screeches, Woohyun keeps falling into a world of darkness and peace, and only there is he able to meet the owner of the old, broken violin.
Relationships: Kim Sunggyu/Nam Woohyun
Kudos: 5





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting here on AO3, so I hope as a first work this is okay.  
> I would like to put a warning out there; this story will contain mentions of mental health issues as it is set in a Victorian mental asylum. Sunggyu being a demon is in NO way a reference to religion. I will be putting warnings in certain chapters to warn anyone so they can skip. These aside, I hope this story is enjoyable! Happy reading!

His slender fingers were wrapped around the bow, holding onto it so tightly his nails had gone white. His hands shook, chin pressed against the chin rest with his eyes shut tightly, his breaths sounding more like heavy pants for air rather than soft breathing. Dried tear streaks coated his pale cheeks, blonde bangs stuck to his forehead. There was a slight rash running up his arm, stopping just by his elbow with the red sticking out from his pale skin, aggravated and itchy, caused by the metal of the bracelet he was wearing around his wrist. He stood calmly, his posture collected and showing no signs of distress. He stood proud and tall, back straight and face relaxed. Beneath his eyelids, however, if anyone was lucky enough to meet his glossy, lifeless eyes, his pleas for help shone brighter than the hundreds of candles which lit up the large room. The said room was crowded with people, rich and posh, and although he couldn't see them, he knew they had the same judgemental eyes which watched his every move, their expressions dull and harsh. They all waited for the music to fill the room almost impatiently. In his head, he could hear them screaming at him to start, to stop wasting time, screaming at him to be perfect. And, slowly, he did just that.

The soft melody of the violin filled the room, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls. Soft yet loud, filled with the raw, empty pain he felt in his heart as a performer hidden from the crowd but very much clear to him. He knitted his eyebrows together in emotional agony, inhaling deeply, letting his hand control the music the crowd wanted to hear from him. No one expected much from him, or as they had said, but to him what they wanted from him was painfully hard to achieve. He was expected to be perfect. At first, that pressure of perfection never bothered him. He had the confidence and a strong belief that what he did was right, that he was perfect in what he did, but as time passed and life went on, the pressure of perfection brought him down onto his knees. A beautiful desire he could never achieve. Gradually, the life he wanted, the life he put his youth into, became something he was forced into, something he had grown to dread.

He opened his eyes suddenly and the music came to an abrupt stop. He lowered the violin and pressed his knuckles against his face, feeling how damp they had become. Hands shaking, the bow cluttered to the ground with a soft thud. Time around him had stopped as he stared into the crowd with wide, fearful eyes, blood running cold as the buzz of sounds around him drowned in the ringing in his ears. He knew they were screaming at him; they were livid that he had stopped. He knew they were demanding him to pick up the bow and continue, but he just could not make himself move. All he could do was stare into the crowd as he felt himself become more vulnerable, but despite that he still forced a smile onto his face. He let out a soft whimper, dropping his head in shame as he mouthed a pitiful 'I am sorry' at the ground, slowly reaching down to pick the bow back up once he managed to make his limbs move.

A few hours had passed. The performance was finished, and he was now sat alone in a dark room lit by only one, single melting candle. He looked at himself in the mirror which stood before him, examining himself with a forced smile on his face. He was still young, but the permanent exhaustion and the fake smile embroidered into his face added a few years onto his appearance. His silver hair had gone dull and flat, resting against his forehead with no volume holding it up whatsoever. His eyes were tired, posture slumped and body bruised. He bit into his lower lip, looking off to the side as he forced another smile onto his face. Perfect. He was told to be just that, and a few years back, maybe he was. But now? He could not bring himself to be that way anymore. He was tired, exhausted, all he wanted was freedom. His smile shook as the backs of his eyes began to burn, and he reached out a hand to touch his reflection as a broken sob left past his lips. A sob so obviously broken, but falling upon deaf ears. No one responded. He was alone, a torn soul of what used to be perfection to him.

Hands shook at his shoulders as voices screamed at him to get up, screaming at him to put on the mask he had built for himself. He knew, he heard them and felt them clearly, but he couldn't move or open his eyes at all; they remained closed as if glue had worked to keep them down. His body felt heavy, yet for the first time in decades he felt free. The exhaustion was gone, but the feelings of dread were not. He heard the angry voices turn into mortified screams and cries, tones broken and filled with utter shock. However, those same noises had started to sound distant, and he was able to finally open his eyes move. His body, however, did not mimic that. He gasped in shock, falling to his knees as he watched the world around him begin to get blurry, being dragged back by some sort of hand which held onto his waist. The last thing he heard was a soft cry.

"He is not breathing, Sir."

Yet, even with the clutches of death, as he felt the agony of his live soul leave his body and the horns grow out from his head, he knew he was not free. Invisible strings attached to his bracelet, invisible chains clicked around his neck and wrists, with a broken, old violin clutched in his grasp. The exhaustion was gone, but the loop of perfection was not. With a defeated sigh, he pressed his chin against the chin rest and began to play a screeching melody. As the strings and chains controlled him, he realized that he had no other choice but to accept that for him, freedom would only ever be a far from reality dream.


End file.
